


Wrong

by slightlyunderwhelmed



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyunderwhelmed/pseuds/slightlyunderwhelmed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It's wrong, and John knows it.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Little angsty drabble that I wrote a lifetime ago.

It’s wrong, and John knows.

That’s what he’s been told since he was a child. Or rather, not told. He knows what happens to the queers who get rumbled, heard muttered stories about them, whispers of that lad who got caught in the act and subsequently shoved behind bars, but he’s never had a proper talk about it. It’s just not something you ever bring up without getting strange looks.

The general concept that John’s gleaned from these stories, though, is that homosexuality is wrong, and that’s final.

Men should love women and women should love men, and that’s just how it works. Anything else is wrong and should be condemned, according to the law.

But it doesn’t _feel_ wrong.

It doesn’t feel wrong when Paul’s panting John’s name, face buried in his shoulder to keep from waking the rest of the goddamn street with his keening and whining, groaning for John to _please, oh please, go harder_ in exactly the type of voice that makes John see stars.

It doesn’t feel wrong when their tongues are clashing around each other in a frenzied kiss in a back alley, palming at each other’s crotches through the fabric of their trousers, desperate for something more but not allowed it, hair damp with sweat and fingers blistered from steel strings and pulse racing with excitement and arousal and just the sheer _pleasure_ of it.

It doesn’t feel wrong when John wakes up to the scent of Paul’s shampoo and the feeling of slow, steady breathing against the crook of his neck, with a warm leg slotted through his and a careless arm thrown across Paul’s body and the sun filtering through the curtains.

In fact, the only way John can describe it is completely and unwaveringly right.


End file.
